


Choose Your Battles

by kayura_sanada



Series: What Good Is A Love Song [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (In That It Doesn't Answer Any Potential DA4 Plot Points), But It Ties Up The Story So..., Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser, Quest-ish, Reunion, Slightly Open-Ended, not really a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8780980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Pinga goes to Fen'Harel’s towers, only to find secrets she hadn’t expected.





	

The fields looked just as she remembered.

Standing below the towers for the first time, she wondered what she’d even hoped to find. She hadn’t made any real plans on what she would search for when she decided to search for Fen'Harel’s towers. Perhaps that was for the best. If she didn’t know what she was looking for, then it would hurt less when she likely found nothing to help her. At least now she could tell her clan where the towers stood, so they could see the truth for themselves. They didn’t believe her when she told them the truth of Fen'Harel. Perhaps seeing it themselves would help.

They looked so far away, even though she stood perhaps an hour’s walk from them. The lake’s waters shone yellow and white with the bright sun above, the heat of Elgar – no, of the natural light beating down on her despite the oncoming of fall and its cool breeze. The leather of her armor soaked the heat up like a sponge. She shifted again, still not quite used to the half-armor she wore, the light leather plating around her chest and waist and guarding the outer sides of her hips to her ankles. Beneath, the darker brown of more supple leather hugged her body. It was different than her armor as Inquisitor, but that was the point. She was obvious enough with one arm missing to her elbow, her other shoulder covered by light plates, her lone forearm covered by a greave and glove, her other tied off tightly with a simple bit of brown cloth wrapped tight over the edge of her crossbow.

She sucked in a breath, her thoughts stuttering around the owner of this place. Even after almost a year since last seeing him, the very thought of Solas brought pain wracking throughout her body.

Focus. She was here to see if there was anything else she could learn of – of Solas, and of his plan. Something to help her allies in Tevinter, or to help her clan, or – or to help her. And him? If Solas even wanted help. She’d promised him their love would endure. She’d wanted to tell him more – that she would search for an alternative, one he likely hadn’t even looked for. Solas was the type to see an option to get what he needed and to blind his eyes to further searching. And even if he wasn’t, if he’d searched for everything he could, she would find another way. She would only give up when she was dead.

The spiky grass crunched beneath her feet, reminding her of Dorian and the odd exuberance of her last visit to this place. As awful as everything had been, it had been easier with her friends by her side. She spent the hour’s walk thinking of them and the last she’d heard from them. Bull stuck his horns into everything up north. Cassandra sat in her chair as Divine, Sera watching over her people. Dorian was in the thick of everything in Tevinter, thankfully in good health still, from the latest reports. Her heart shivered at the thought of hearing worse in the next.

Best not to think of that.

She had her own responsibilities. While her friends focused on dealing with the war breaking through the borders and the Qunari losing their collective minds, she had her hands full trying to deal with Solas and his plans. It was best to focus on them.

When she finally reached the base of the closest tower, she was unsurprised to find the door inside had been caved in. She took a deep breath. Despite herself, she once again found herself thinking about how much lonelier it was to travel alone. And harder. But, well, even if she wanted them with her, they were busy. And bringing an Inquisition entourage would have gone completely against her desire to do this secretly. No need to let the Inquisition’s enemies know where she was, or what she was interested in. Which meant she would have to find a way inside without Blackwall breaking through a weak point in a wall or a mage friend moving the rocks out of her way with an easy wave of their hands.

She looked up, squinting into the sun, to estimate the time. She had several more hours before the sun went down, but that didn’t mean she’d be inside by then. And with one hand, any effort to get inside would take twice as long. For a short instant, she wished she had her arm again, wished climbing the wall was an option. Then she remembered that her alternative was to be dead, and she let the longing fade away once again.

There was no help for it. She would have to get inside the hard way.

She started with the smallest rocks up on top of the pile. They started small avalanches, ones that got caught as the rocks above and behind clogged up the hole she just opened.

It was slow, arduous work. She ended up having to remove the arm-crossbow Sera and Varric had rigged up for her; otherwise it kept getting stuck on the cracks in the rocks.

The sun dipped lower and lower as time wore on. She scraped her arm and legs scrabbling up and down the incline. Over and over again, the rocks clogged up any attempt at progress. More often than not, she ended up holding herself up with one arm as she coughed in the wake of a plume of plaster dust. By the time the sun’s light turned orange and the cool breeze turned into the cold wind more befitting the latter part of the year, her arm trembled with strain and her knees bled. The doorframe still sat stalwartly against her, its opening only barely broken through, the very top finally clear of debris. From what she could see of the inside, the room beyond hadn’t been covered entirely by the rubble, meaning all her work hadn’t been for naught. While a few more hours work might see her inside, she feared any other room beyond the entrance to have collapsed, or perhaps been covered by rubble from the above floors. Clearing out that level of rocks may compromise what little integrity the building might have remaining. And if it didn’t, it would just mean she worked into the night to get nowhere.

She hesitated, thinking over her options. She would have to risk it, if it came to that. It would be foolish to say her efforts may be for naught; this entire venture hinged on the precipice of uselessness. She needed to know. To see. She couldn’t leave the chance behind. Not after coming all this way. And if this tower failed, then there were others farther in the distance to try. With that in mind, she gave herself another hour or so to dig a bit further before setting up her makeshift camp.

The night, when it came, came with clouds. The Dalish had stories of that being a bad omen. She wondered if that was any truer than any of the other stories she’d been told.

* * *

She spent the full morning continuing the night’s exercise, moving each rock she could, rolling down any too heavy for her to lift with just one hand. Thought she imagined the creaking of stone or the wind through the empty rooms within to portend the building’s imminent collapse, it remained steady as she cleared the path enough for her to to easily fit through. That fact, plus the lack of enemies engaging her, lent a greater fire to her heart.

She crawled up the sliding pile of rocks one more time, her sore hand leaving skin behind as she crested the top. It was just as dark within as it had been the night before; any light sources inside were either long gone, long neglected, or no longer within her power to command. She had brought candles with her, and a torch, but she hesitated to use them so soon. Instead she slid inside, the rocks skittering loudly down in her wake, and used the dim light from outside to look around.

The room, whatever it had been, was a poor relic of what had existed before. The ground was littered with rock and dust; even with the wall lending her balance, she was tested to stay on her feet. The walls stood cracked, but otherwise sturdy. She wondered where all the debris at the entrance had come from until she looked up and found the rafters exposed, the ceiling disappearing into the darkness leading into the second floor. She took a careful breath through her teeth, the dust immense. This bottom floor wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the top.

Past the remains of that first room, however, was a much clearer walkway, and she sighed in relief. She hadn’t been looking forward to clearing out yet another doorway, even if it ended up being perfectly safe to do so. She hooked her crossbow back onto her arm. It was a tedious process, as she had to untie the cloth covering her arm and attach the crossbow to the metal hook where her elbow joint had once been, only to struggle to tie the cloth up once more. But once she did, it made all the difference; her balance, attuned more to the crossbow’s existence after so many months on the road, felt infinitely better as soon as its weight returned. She hoisted her pack higher. Then she moved forward.

Almost immediately, the darkness covered her completely, and she was forced to light the torch, after all. She hurried through the room as soon as she noticed it was empty, its walls bare. The next room was even darker than the others, and she found herself glad she’d lit the torch before. She wouldn’t have even been able to see the flint in her hands to strike it if she’d waited.

This room had the remains of something, a flash of red and brown amidst the black, but though she bent her torch to see, she could see little past the dust. It seemed to be some broken ceramic. She put down the torch and lifted a small piece. Foreboding skittered over her skin. She quickly set it back down. Perhaps it was a very good thing that she hadn’t let her clan accompany her, despite her concern that they might think she planted whatever information they found. There had been enough violence against her people when they’d arrived in Wycome. If anything dangerous existed here – which was almost a certainty – then her clan was better protected there than here.

She proceeded cautiously, swerving her torch back and forth as she took careful steps forward. Still, for whatever reason, the sense of foreboding did not reappear. Had the item she’d touched been cursed? Had it transferred the curse to her, or had she dropped it in time? Or perhaps it was a reaction, one tuned specifically to the object itself. Like the door in the Forbidden Oasis.

She had to stifle her frustration. Not for the first time, she wondered why Solas had told Abelas to help his people if he wasn’t willing to answer the questions she had herself. But then again, “elves like us” hadn’t meant the Dalish at all, had it? It had meant ones like him. Like Solas. Those who had lived back when elves had been immortal.

And there was the hurt again, as she once more wondered how much of their time together had been real and how much had been – she clutched tight to Solas’ last words before he’d disappeared after Corypheus, that _they_ were real. That she believe that, if nothing else. And she did. She had to, or else she was left with nothing from him, and her love and loyalty existed for someone who had only used her.

There, alone in the darkness, those fears were easier to believe.

She took a deep breath. Another. Another. She could do this. These were just her fears talking. Nightmare whispering in her ear, the unknown foreboding begging to know whether these risks were worth it. Whether this love, something she alone carried forward, was worth the weight and the turmoil.

She had goals. But if she met them – if she found a safer alternative, or managed to stop Solas? What then? And if she failed? What would she do? Would she go to him, stand with him, as the world fell apart?

It scared her how easily she thought _yes_. _Yes_ , she would. Despite how wrong she thought it was? Despite how immoral it was? How she didn’t think that world could last? How, historically, all worlds built upon death and destruction had fallen, and fallen hard? Tevinter. Orlais. Whatever had happened to the Qunari to make them move to Par Vollen. Even the old world of the elves and the Evanuris. And here Solas was, creating another such world. Could she truly stand by him as he shaped that? As he made a foundation for the elves that so exactly mirrored the one he’d worked so hard to destroy?

Yes. Because she didn’t want him to stand – to die – alone.

Didn’t that make her part of the problem?

Perhaps the reason she didn’t travel with her previous companions, or even seek to find others, was because she knew her goal differed too greatly from others’. Because she no longer stood for peace or order. She just stood for the man she loved, despite the destruction he would cause, the chaos his people had already achieved.

She stopped walking blindly and just leaned her back against one of the walls. These thoughts had only returned to her after that feeling had touched her. She hadn’t even been looking where she’d been going. It was so dark, she couldn’t see anything past the circle of light her torch lent her. She could see the stone wall on either side of her, the black, blank expanse of the room in front of her. This room was empty, as well, and a frisson of fear spiked through her. Whatever she’d seen, it seemed more and more like it had been left deliberately. A trap.

For her? Or for any intruder?

Speaking of, this place had been made by a powerful mage in a time of powerful mages. A small rockfall wouldn’t have stopped anyone from getting inside. Which meant the collapse was likely not something that had happened during that time. So had the collapse been caused by someone allied with Solas – with Fen'Harel – in order to keep people from entering, or by someone who’d come across this place by accident? And if it was after the fact, were they trying to keep people out or keep something else in?

The last time she’d been here, it had been at Solas’ behest. While she hadn’t known that at the time, it remained true, despite the warrior spirits who had attacked her. How else to explain the wolf statue having been moved, specifically to slow her down? To keep her from seeing who the Qunari were fighting, and why it had been left in a convenient enough spot for her – her, with her mark – to retrieve? She’d thought of those moments over and over again, yet for some reason, she’d never considered what it meant to be allowed entrance to Fen'Harel’s sanctum.

It meant there might truly be something here.

Her will restored, she leaned off the wall and took a closer look at the chamber she’d wandered into. The walls were sturdier here, with no discernible cracks or crevices. There was, however, something that looked almost to be a message scratched into the old stone. She leaned her torch close and struggled to read it. Without her mark, she didn’t have the ability to read emotional impressions anymore, and she wasn’t a First or Second, so she didn’t know the ancient language. But if she tilted her head and squinted, she thought she could make out a couple of words, thanks to her studies with Morrigan. The message spoke something about belief. Something else about doubts, about friends – she couldn’t make it out. The very fact that it existed, however, gave her everything she needed. Suddenly the building came to life with history. Real people lived here. This giant tower, not unlike an arm reaching for the sky, held more secrets inside it than the Dalish had likely gathered in the past century. She wasn’t wrong to come here.

Answers. If not to how to help Solas, or how to tear the Veil without killing everyone, then at least information on Solas’ history. Sad that learning more about him still topped her list of interests.

The room was empty save for the scratched writing. She thought back to her travels through these buildings before and recalled the hoards of old weapons stashed in boxes. If there had been any in this room, or the ones previous, then they’d been cleaned out. That was far from comforting.

The next opening on her right led her to an enormous room, so large she spent several minutes just traversing it. There were no scratched messages here, but the first truly tangible evidence of civilization finally presented itself – long, empty rows of tables, chairs still curled around the edges as if waiting for someone to light torches in the empty wall sconces and gather food around the tables. She could imagine the hall filled with voices, with bodies pressing close together as each member passed along food or stories. Solas hadn’t been alone then, surrounded by those he’d recruited. Much like the Inquisitor, indeed. Only he had a new group of chosen, and she’d passed the torch to another.

The tables and chairs threw shadows on the walls that almost looked like people. She eyed them warily, ready for something to attack her at any moment. She’d thought the guardians might still be awake, still be ready to defend an area already fallen to time. Instead there was nothing but the shadows of ghosts.

At the far corner of the room was a rotted wooden door that led to a stairwell. Finally. She grinned in triumph. There were other doorways, ones that likely led her to other rooms on this floor, but with so little luck so far, she chose to take the stairs.

The stairwell was as dark and empty as everything else she’d seen so far, made even better when the torch hissed as it fed upon abandoned cobwebs. She ducked at the sound, then again when straightening got her a cobweb to the face. She spat and sputtered, wishing she could get the offending thing off without first having to let go of the torch. How had the upper levels looked so much cleaner? Had that actually been where he’d been hiding those two years? Or had even the animals fled such a spot as the start of a war between Thedonians? Or did the Eluvians play some part? She highly doubted Solas had taken the time to clean for guests. But perhaps he’d done it for his own sake. Had he stayed there to dream of those times? The ones when these halls were filled, and this world and the Fade had been one.

The stairs wound up and around, forcing her to duck and crouch in case something waited above. But nothing stirred, nothing moved. Nothing existed, seemingly, save for herself. She wondered what time it was, if the sun even stood any longer, or if the night had come. Time seemed so distant in this moment, as if the world had stopped to let her explore.

Of course, that wasn’t the case at all. Things in Tevinter got worse by the day, and her friends worked against it all to try to save Tevinter and the rest of Thedas from the Qunari invasion. Let alone what Solas and his followers had planned, sowing even more chaos on the battlefields. Once again, she feared time was running out, if it wasn’t too late already. Perhaps she did all this for nothing.

She reached the second floor and carefully stepped out, remembering the missing floor by the entrance. The floor here was still solid, its halls dark and empty. Small patches of sunlight breached the doorways, the doors themselves likely crumbled to dust or left to rot. They illuminated nothing but stone and dust, and she hesitated before giving up and heading to the top, continuing up the stairs.

The higher she got, the more light started to seep through the rooms into the stairwell and down from something above, until finally she could see windows along the stairway walls and the dim orange-yellow light of late evening. She’d spent the full day digging into these rooms. That, she thought ruefully, might explain why her arm was so tired.

One more floor, however, and the building was back to the familiar disrepair of the first time she’d visited the tower. The stairs caved into themselves, leaving little more than a hole in the very wall leading out. The light streamed in unrestricted now, shining up and down the stairs. She looked at her torch, then left the stairway, thinking to find an empty sconce to put the thing in until she needed it again. But when she stepped into the first room, it was to find what looked to be a space already filled with light and energy. No dust lay on the floors here, no cobwebs in the corners. The tables on the sides of the room sat with an almost polished sheen. Torches kept the room lit lightly, each one burning green with veilfire. She sucked in a breath. Carefully, she blew out her torch and crept forward. She expected – she didn’t know what she expected. The elvhen spirits? A group of bandits? A scouting party of Solas’ followers? Or was this simply the remnants of Solas cleaning house over a year ago? Could magic maintain a place so that it needn’t be cleaned?

The room smelled faintly of woodsmoke and fresh bread. A fireplace held the ashen remains of a few logs. This was no act of magical cleanliness. It was fresh. Recent. Every muscle in her tensed.

No one. Not a single sound. Not that she was an expert on assassins. She’d nearly been assassinated countless times with the Inquisition, and once more after it, yet Leliana and her spies had likely thwarted countless more without her even knowing. The lights in the room should have given her an equal chance of catching something moving, even if her ears failed her. But the air, full of dust mites, held nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she held out her left arm, her other balancing the crossbow until it stood steady before her.

Step by step, she searched the room for anyone who could be hiding in the crevices. Beside the fireplace, beneath a table, within a corner. Nothing. No one jumped out at her, nothing flew through the air to explode at her feet. She finally lowered her arms slightly and stepped into the next room.

She’d found the weapons.

That same frisson of fear shimmered up her spine, but this time the effect was stronger. Her breath stuttered in her chest as she looked upon the crates upon crates of weapons, the racks lined with lances and swords and and maces and hammers. Tables spanning the length of the long, thin room, not unlike a great hall, with daggers and shields and arrows and bows all piled nearly on top of one another, many of them enchanted in some way or another.

This wasn’t just some scouting party or a bandit raid, was it? It couldn’t be more apparent that this was a site of Solas’ army, either a small partition or, perhaps, even the main army itself. Her heart tripped in her chest. She reached for the crystal around her neck, her only thought of relaying what she was seeing – just in case she didn’t make it back.

“Dorian?” she called softly, wrapping her fingers around the pink stone. No response. He could be in a meeting, or on a battlefield. Or dead. Her grip tightened. “Dorian?” Still nothing. She finally let the pendant go. There was no other way to send a message, not as she was at the moment. She would have to leave immediately to get a note sent out. But what would it say? “I smelled fresh bread, found an arsenal, and met not a single person?” She thought of the eluvians. Yes. She should leave.

She stepped forward.

If she left, she would know nothing. And if Solas’ army stood to attack, then knowing what they planned was two-thirds of the battle.

And, she thought desperately, she’d come here to _find_ something. If, after seeing a chance to learn, she instead walked away, she would have done worse than waste her time. She would have given up.

The long hall led to a connecting room far ahead and a door to its side. From the windows, it seemed that door led outside. There was likely a balcony. She thought of the height she must be standing from and found herself shivering. It would be like fighting through the Qunari over a year before, the precipices that she’d nearly fallen off of back when she’d still had two hands with which to fight. Each step was quiet, deliberate, as she waited for something to spring to life. A trap. A person. Nothing. She dared peek around the edge of the hall to the next room, and though she saw a well lived-in room with sofas and tables sitting back to back, creating small circles where different groups could gather and relax together, she saw no one actually taking advantage of the set-up. She moved to the balcony.

She sucked in a breath. The memories that washed over her stilled her, against her better judgment. It would be better to scope the land from outside, to check the windows or climb the scaffolding instead of continuing to carelessly traipse straight through the halls and rooms. And if she met more of Solas’ spirit guards? If she found herself frozen in remembrance of Solas’ eyes when he’d said he did not believe their love could survive?

She would fight, and she would keep moving forward. Just as she had since that day had passed.

She opened the door.

The sun was nearly gone again, only its very tip limning the horizon. The evening light bathing the faraway corner of the sky stained it bloody, even as the night pervaded the rest of the world.

She wished, for a moment, that the darkness hid what stood before her. When before her heart had hammered, now it stopped entirely before slipping into her throat.

Solas.

He looked beautiful in the moonlight, the silver light dappling his features. He always had. But he wore that horrible armor, that deep, terrible gold that turned her scholar into a warrior. That turned him into Fen'Harel more than Solas. “Inquisitor,” he said, his voice quiet.

She couldn’t breathe. Her hand shook.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d called her _vhenan_. The last time she’d seen him, his eyes had shown a sort of torture as he’d turned away from her. And through the sick happiness she felt at the sight of him, there was weight to his existence as he stood before her on a suddenly familiar-looking balcony. She could see absolutely nothing in his eyes this time. Nothing at all.

Her eyes stung. She understood that, when he’d walked away that day over a year ago, he had been closing off the time they’d had together. He’d been saying it was over, for both of them. And perhaps, in that time, he’d managed to move on.

No, not perhaps, she realized, finally looking beyond Solas to see several elves who, according to their armor and bearing as they stood in a half-circle around Solas, could only be his top lieutenants. A short moment noted Abelas in the group before she saw a woman she recognized very well. She had been the one to lean over Pinga’s fallen form and sneer, “long live the Inquisitor.”

Solas had sent one of his lieutenants to kill her.

Something buzzed in her head. She thought of Cassandra’s warnings, of the Divine’s insistence that Solas could be the culprit, that he was now her enemy. She’d defended him. She’d loved him. Through all of this, she had continued to love him. Creators help her, she still did.

And still she called on the Creators.

Don’t break. Somehow, enough of her mind remained to recognize how she had to control herself. “Solas.” _Fenhedis._ Her voice cracked on his name.

Someone behind Solas shifted – not her would-be killer, at least – and Solas spoke. “You came earlier than I expected.”

He’d expected her to come? But Solas had always seemed to understand her.

“I had thought it would take longer for you to arrive,” he continued, and her brows furrowed at the words. He’d expected – what? Her to find and explore this place later? Had he underestimated her ability to rediscover the area? Had he set up this encampment of sorts just to lure her in? What for?   
“If you’d thought coming to face me first, alone, would attract some vulnerable reaction in me, however,” he said, “I’m afraid you are very much mistaken.”

Her brows pulled even lower. “Solas,” she said slowly, “I didn’t know you were here.”

One of Solas’ lieutenants pursed their lips. Another, the one who had tried to kill her, sneered. Solas sighed. “Inquisitor.”

 _Don’t call me that_. “Why would I come here alone?” she asked. “Why would I do something so dangerous? With _her_ here?” She nodded her head to her would-be assassin. This time it was Solas’ brows that furrowed. The assassin lifted her chin. “If I’d known she was yours, I would never have even–” She choked on her words. No, she thought desperately. Don’t break. Not here. Not yet.

“You came forward despite knowing we were here,” one of his people, a tall, thin elf with a long staff, said.

“I’d known you’d _been_ here,” she said, her eyes turning to Solas despite her knowing better. He wouldn’t care. And he didn’t. More than her hand, her entire body shook. “There were weapons here and signs of occupancy, but – you could have already been attacking,” she said, her heart trembling, falling from her throat to her stomach. Because yes, she expected Solas to attack without warning, and what did that say about her? To know that he was untrustworthy, dangerous. And to yet still love him.

Solas closed his eyes and shook his head. It hurt perhaps worse than him using her old title, this lack of trust between them both. How had everything changed so much? “You would go alone to such a place?”

Was there nothing left for them?

“I’ve gone to places far more dangerous. As you know,” she added, and couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

“Not alone,” he said.

She waved her arm out to encompass the tower, its twin, the meadow that stretched to the dark horizon. “You can check the entire area, down to the mountainside. Anywhere you wish. I have no army hiding in the shadows. No allies downstairs or in your other tower waiting to strike. Solas, I came here to learn more about the Evanuris and the past.” She barely managed to keep her voice from breaking again. “About you.”

Solas stared at her, his gaze empty of its usual passion. Empty of anything, least of all affection. Love.

Perhaps, just maybe, she’d thrown her love and loyalty into a void.

She looked again at the assassin. No. She had no ‘perhaps’ left.

It was time to run. And quickly, before Solas read her intent.

She snatched out a lightning flask and threw it, even as Solas’ eyes glowed, even as his lieutenants pulled out their weapons. She didn’t bother fighting, just ran to the edge of the balcony and jumped. She felt something tugging on her, something pulling as if to keep her. She thought of Solas and forced herself to turn from the emotions that burned like poison through her system.

No balcony sat below the one above, and for a moment she wondered if she hadn’t thrown herself to her death. The lightning flask still wore on, however, and she quickly yanked out the arrow in her crossbow and switched it with one in her pack. She wrapped the end of the rope around her arm, catching it in the hook just as the flask wore off. She aimed up and fired.

It caught on the bottom of the balcony, and with a hard tug that felt to wrench out her shoulder, she swung back toward the tower. She couldn’t spare a moment to see if Solas even worried whether she remained alive. She nearly splattered on the wall as it was. After the first few trials with the rope, back when Sera had first thought of it, had ended in either a broken arrow or a face smashed into the wall, she and Sera had learned that pulling one’s legs up to catch the blow with one’s feet, while it put strain on one’s back and legs, saved them from a more debilitating hit. She bent her knees to absorb as much impact as possible before settling against the wall for a moment to get her bearings.

The long length of the rope still afforded her only half the height necessary to reach the ground, and she had little more than the thin lines between the stones to give her any sort of handhold. She dug into her pack, finally hearing shouts and calls from above, and pulled out her other, final rope arrow. This one she tied more carefully, keeping it away from the former, before using her crossbow to slam the arrow deep into the wedges between the stones. She finally undid the knot of the previous arrow. She fell immediately, the wall of the tower inches from her nose.

The ground rose startlingly fast, and she feared she’d given herself too much slack. Just as she reached up to grab the rope and force herself to a hand-blistering halt, however, the rope pulled taut. She nearly screamed at the abuse on her shoulder and arm. Tears sprang to her eyes, already close after the horrible reunion. She looked down to see only feet between her and the grass below. She yanked off the rope and fell the rest of the way. Her feet, when they hit the dirt, crumpled beneath her. She barely managed to turn it into a roll.

“Inquisitor.”

She slammed a flask of fire on the grass before she even turned to look Solas in the face. As she’d suspected, two of his lieutenants had followed – Abelas and the tall one with the staff. Solas’ eyes burned, and she found herself frozen in place. For an instant, her heart pounded, thinking she’d been turned to stone, just as the Viddesala had been. But no, she was only paralyzed. Trapped in place much as Azzan Hawke was able to stop his enemies’ movements. She struggled, wondering how long Solas, with his enormous power, would be able to hold her.

Long enough, she thought, and grimaced.

Abelas leaned against his staff, his narrowed eyes almost slits as he watched her. Yet he seemed far less ready to attack than Solas or his other companion, who held his staff out in preparation.

Once more, her gaze turned to Solas. “Let me go,” she said, knowing it was futile. Knowing nothing she said or did would matter now. Knowing it had never mattered.

She thought he’d watched her from afar in the Fade because he couldn’t keep away. Not completely, no matter his words or actions. She had never believed as Cassandra had, that he was spying on her.

She should have.

For the first time, something flickered over Solas’ face. “I cannot let you go, _vhenan_.”

The words put her heart at war. She wanted to believe. Wanted the flare of hope that burst and died like a flavor on the tongue, even as she wanted to be released. But she thought again of his assassin and had to acknowledge reality. It was worse than any pain she’d ever endured. The word now told her only that he’d never meant it. “You’ll finally finish what you started, then,” she said, and told herself to face it. To not flinch.

“Yes,” he said, that steady emptiness back. “You had to know I would.”

Her heart broke.

“Let me go,” she said again, letting the exhaustion seep into her voice. Letting him hear the lack of aggression. The defeat. After only a short hesitation, those beautiful eyes shone bright blue. She reached for her crossbow, making Solas’ allies hiss and for Abelas to finally pull his staff forward. But she only loosened the tie on the cloth around her arm and unhooked the crossbow from its port. She dropped the weapon to the ground before him. He and his two mages stared at her with wide eyes. “I know you won’t believe me,” she said, keeping still against their wall, “but I have never, will never – would have never – been your enemy.”

Solas didn’t move. Would he once again have one of his people do it for him? She wanted to call him a coward for it, but really, she was just grateful. Very grateful. She wasn’t certain she could handle him being the last thing she saw.

Perhaps, then, she should close her eyes.

“Pinga.” Her name on his lips shook her; the tremble in them forced her to look. When before his two mages had stood to attack her, now they stood back and turned their heads. Solas’ dark emptiness had cracked; his gaze caught her, but his head hung, his lips curled in a grimace. “ _Vhenan_. Do you – do you think I would kill you?”

She frowned. Her breath filled her lungs like lead; her heart had never been so heavy. “You’ve already tried.”

But there was no recognition in his gaze. Until, suddenly, there was. “Vilana,” he breathed, his body shaking suddenly. He looked up as if he could see his other followers from where he stood below. His eyes glowed. “She tried to kill you.”

“Over ten months ago,” she said, her voice detailing her own confusion. “Back after I handed over the title of Inquisitor.” It came to her slowly, as if she daren’t believe. But when it did, the wave of relief brought a bright burst of tears to her eyes. “Are you lying again?” she asked, wishing she could trust this feeling of relief within her.

The emptiness in those eyes broke entirely as he turned back to her, forgoing Vilana for the moment. She finally saw him again, her Solas, as he faced her with his emotions free on his face. She read his regret and pain and dared believe one last time.

“Why did you close yourself from me? Why couldn’t you even speak my name?”

Solas shook his head, ignoring her questions. “I did not demand any such action of Vilana, nor of anyone else.” Solas’ chest heaved within his armor. He looked back to his lieutenants. “Leave us,” he ordered. She expected them to argue, as her friends might have. Instead, they both nodded their heads into short bows and turned away. As soon as they stood far away, near the edge of the tower’s wall, Solas moved toward her. Unbalanced and weaponless, she couldn’t help but tense. If Solas saw – and he must have – it did not deter him. _“Vhenan.”_

She shook her head. “All this time, I chose to believe as you said, that what we had was true. I came here wanting to find another way for you. As I have since you told me.” Solas closed his eyes. “I have never–” she caught herself before she choked on her words.

“I am sorry. I had believed you’d come to contain. Coerce.” Solas reached out for her. “I believed, if I let you leave, that you would speak of what you saw and bring your army to kill me.”

Both of them. They’d both lost faith in each other. “I couldn’t,” she told him, handing over her strength to him once more. Hoping. Still hoping, even now. _“Emma lath suledin.”_

The words, so close to what she’d spoken before, somehow brought Solas forward when they’d driven him back just a year before. He wrapped one slim hand behind her head, his fingers fuzzing through the shot locks, and pulled her close, until their foreheads touched. When she inhaled, she breathed of his scent. _“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,”_ he murmured, unwittinngly mirroring the past himself. He seemed to realize a moment later, because he said, “it seems all I can ever do is apologize to you.”

There were other things he could do, she thought. But she’d grown in the year without him. She knew better than to speak them. “I want to find another way,” she told him. She wanted him to see her, to understand. To never doubt her intentions again. No matter that he could not, would not, reciprocate. “I don’t want another world built upon the corpses of the fallen. Of those 'less important.’ I don’t want the elves to walk on those corpses as we now walk over our ancestors. And the heavens help me, Solas, but I don’t want to lose you.” She reached up and took Solas’ hand in hers, carefully lowering it so that she could pull away and look into his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on your dream. I just search for another path. That has always been my goal. I will tell my friends I met you, Solas, but you must know they have orders not to attack you or your men unless they must defend themselves.”

Solas shook his head. “There is no other way than this path, _vhenan._ ”

“Until the last possible second, I will not give up.” She gripped his hand tightly when he would have pulled away. “And if I am wrong. If I fail. Then though it may seem sad or cruel or weak, I would stand with you, or not at all.”

Solas’ fingers spasmed around hers. Of course he understood what she meant, that she would stand by his side or die somewhere else, wherever she stood when the end of the world came. She would not wish to survive. Not in such a world, and not one created by the man she loved, at the cost of his own life. She did not want it.“Do not say such things.”

They both knew she would likely die either way. But only she knew she would not stop it, if the time came. “I will not let you take that choice from me,” she told him.

They stood in silence then, their hands clasped tightly together. Her gaze fell to their enjoined fingers, her heart unsure whether to pound or thud to her feet. She had forced herself, all this time, to never think the word, but suddenly, standing there with Solas’ followers watching them, the catastrophe of their reunion replaying in her mind, it came, so suddenly she couldn’t wash it away. Hopeless. Everything between them seemed, in that instant, so inevitable and hopeless.

She loved him. But for the first time, she forced herself to accept that love alone, will alone, would never be enough.

Of course Solas would have to do something about her. She knew he and his men were here. Had been here. They would have to leave quickly if he let her go, and an army in a rush forgot things. They left things behind. Weapons. People. Plans. Something useful to the enemy would be left for them to pilfer. Not to mention how long it would take, how moving would delay any and all of Solas’ plans. And just as important, she had her own experiences that she could share. A part of her wondered if he would let her join him, and how she would respond. How would she face her friends on the battlefield? Could she, any more than she could Solas?

The more realistic part of her wondered where Solas would lock her up. If he would even come to see her after he did. If she would ever be let free, or if the end would come in a cell. Would she even try to escape?

She didn’t even know the answer to those questions. After all this time, she still didn’t know where she stood. She only had vague hopes, useless goals like 'stop Solas’ or 'find a better way.’ Her motto had become only 'don’t give up.’ But on what?

Before her, his gaze on their fingers, as well, his thumb, rubbing her knuckles, even as his body seemed to try to pull away, Solas was as beautiful as she’d ever seen him. Encased in that armor, his strength of will, his pride, seemed almost alive. His face, turned toward her with the same pain she’d seen a year before, seemed to study her as he had the shards, the astrariums, the Fade. As usual, that look of deep intent left her breathless. That it was focused on her left her in awe. Once, she’d wondered at her luck. Now, the same wonder meant something completely different.

He pulled his hand away, and this time, she let him. They stared at one another, their gazes like the twilight above, before Pinga hugged her disabled arm to her chest, carefully tying the cloth tight again before he could see the markings on her skin. She looked away. “Will you tell me nothing? Will you leave me floundering in the dark, even now?”

“I am too close,” he said. She heard the effort behind it, how hard it was for him to pull away. If nothing else, she wanted to trust in that. “I’m sorry.”

His apologies were useless. “I understand,” she said, exhausted with even trying. “But I will keep searching. I won’t give up.”

That was right. If he locked her up, she would break free. Even if she chose not to give away any real information in Solas’ operation here – which she would, if only to protect her people better – but even if she didn’t, she would still try to find a way to stop Solas and still save her people. If she gave up, then she would have nothing left. She could not lose faith in herself now.

She smiled for him. It came out naturally. Her own victory. _“Ar lath ma, vhenan,”_ she said. “Trust me. I swear, I will not betray you.” She steadied herself on his shoulder, felt it easily take her weight. As always. She leaned up.

“No!” Solas roared, rearing back, pushing her away, to her unbalanced left side. His eyes glowed. She barely had time to gasp before pain struck.

A green wave of magic poured over her, through her, pulsing over the world. She felt the outpour like cool water, a wave crashing through her body like a ghost. She staggered under it, then felt the agony in her chest explode into starlight. She fell to her knees.

“ _Ar tu na'din!”_ Solas waved a hand. She didn’t understand how he could miss her when she was still right in front of him; how poor his aim was that – and then she noticed he’d been in fact aiming over her head, had hit something that shouted out some aborted scream. She heard it – her – slam against the wall of the tower just as the last of her muscles failed her. She slid to the ground in a heap.

“No! _Ma'arlath!”_ She watched Solas fall to his knees before her, his hands out, over her body. His eyes burned silver-blue, brighter than moonlight, as he searched for something. Some way to heal her, perhaps. She wondered how bad it was. To only hurt distantly, it must have been bad. It would be worse, then, to follow instinct and close her eyes. “Look at me, _vhenan_. Keep your eyes on me.” But when she did as bade, he looked away. The white-blue fire blazed. _“Na din'an sahlin,_ Vilana.”

“She distracts you!” a woman behind her shouted.

Oh. The assassin. Solas’ lips pulled back. Pinga was reminded of Solas’ face when the foolish mages twisted his friend into a demon. Just as back then, she spoke. Her voice, when it came, was little more than a scratchy whisper. “Solas.”

Gently, he covered her eyes. His voice was soft. “Not this time, _vhenan._ ” She heard something, almost like a whisper on the wind. The air turned almost cold, brushed against her a little faster. From behind her, Vilana screamed. Something that sounded like the rending of flesh broke the silence of the empty meadow, and then it was still. Even more so than before.

He’d killed his own lieutenant. How would the others react to that?

“Hold still,” Solas said, though she had no energy to do otherwise. She lay prone, her entire body shuddering as she felt his magic course shallowly over her. Something around them moved, but Solas did not remove his hand from her eyes. _“Tel'garas.”_

“Fen'Harel. Let us help.” Solas’ fingers tensed slightly on her, though he carefully applied no pressure. “We have loved ones, as well,” that same person said, and Solas relaxed a fraction.

“Know that if you harm her further, you will not survive.”

“Solas,” she said again, her voice little more than a breath, barely managing to to convey her displeasure. It wouldn’t do for him to make enemies of his men.

“Hush, Pinga,” he said, using her name for the second time that day. It made everything in her relax. “There. Hurry,” he said then. His hand slipped from her eyes, but the tiredness beat against her then, the pain almost sticky with numbness, a soft centerpoint to the dark fog present everywhere else. She did not try to open her eyes.

Her body flushed with a cool warmth. The feeling was deep in her memory, and for a moment it jolted her back to a time when she’d been young, very young and in pain much like this. A gaping wound spilling red down her arm and side, the cut of her father’s dagger still burning across her skin. She thought of the Keeper, desperately holding her staff out and trying to console her endless tears as the clan hid her mother’s cold body from her sight. This time, just as then, she felt the hot track of tears down her face. Solas was trying to heal her.

She would die soon. Whatever his plans were, they included her death. But Solas could not let it happen, at least not yet. Perhaps not in front of him. From somewhere, she found the strength to draw breath, to hitch air into her lungs. The pain soared as she pulled herself back from the edge. This time the fire was in her back, just above the start of her shoulder blade. Vilana must have been aiming for her heart. Solas’ quick movements had likely been all that had saved her from immediate death.

When she finally got her eyes to open again, it was to a near blinding light. Solas’ eyes hadn’t dimmed, but more than that light was that of the staffs of the two mages with him. She saw the dark shapes of others just beyond, but couldn’t get the leverage to see. “Stay still,” Solas said, his hands steady above her. She saw the bright green of his magic singing through his fingers, not unlike the Anchor once had over her own. The pain slowly began to recede.

It was almost worse, feeling her body seal up as if being sewn, then glued, back into place. She arched her back up at the feeling. It was as if something crawled over her skin, catching and tugging gently on the edges of the wound. For a moment, she wondered if the shapes she saw on the edges of her vision were the rest of Solas’ people or if they were spirits, called to the edge of the Veil by Solas’ power. She wondered if any demons lay with them.

Solas gritted his teeth, and the green in his hands flared. The feel of something crawling over her disappeared, the press and pull of flesh calmed. The cool warmth, not unlike a summer breeze, finally faded, as well. The light dimmed in Solas’ eyes until it was gone, leaving only the dark recesses of his eyes and the bright sparkle within. She leaned up.

The pain remained, but it was muted, almost like an echo. She frowned and reached back. Solas caught her hand. “The blood remains,” he told her, a darkness in his voice as he said it. She frowned, unsure of whether that had anything to do with what she’d been checking. But, well, she supposed if the wound remained in any dangerous context, it would have been more important to mention that than the blood. She dared sit up more fully and turn to Solas’ men. “Thank you,” she said.

The tall one whose name she didn’t know inclined his head. “We all understood your importance to Fen'Harel the moment he ordered us not to harm you under any circumstances.” She cast a glance back at Solas, but he seemed to have regained that emotionless mask. “It is unfortunate that his is one who will not survive. But until the moment we succeed, we understand the need to know one’s loved ones are safe.”

It was almost an admission of weakness, saying they had people not in their group they would want to protect. But the very thought of using such information made her mind recoil, and she just accepted his explanation with a tilt to her head. “Thank you, anyway. And though I know you don’t do it for me, thank you for keeping him safe.”

She struggled to stand. She’d been unbalanced enough without her crossbow, but now, with so much blood lost and her body recovering from, well, recovering, she found herself tilting to her left. Solas caught her, his hands cool, either from the night wind or from the magic he’d called upon, and helped her to her feet. She gave him a small smile in response.

“The decision of what to do is yours, Dread Wolf,” the same mage said, standing beside them. Abelas did the same, but turned slightly away, showing no interest in the conversation. The tall one bowed. “We will stand by whatever you choose.”

“ _Ma serannas,_ Fanim.” Fanim bowed once more and backed away, though this time not so far that they could not quickly come to his aid. Solas watched from the corner of his eye. Then he focused all that attention back on her. “How do you feel?”

She touched her chest. The leather there was still dry, though she’d thought for a moment that the pain had reached even that far. She feared to ask how close it had been, if it would have even been possible to save her if Solas’ hadn’t been as powerful as he was. Her fingers shook. “I’m all right,” she said.

Her knees still weak, she finally chose to sit back down. The instant she tried, however, Solas just pulled her to him, his arms wrapping around her to pull her close, heedless of the blood himself. She felt the press of his armor against her chest, his hands digging into thick cloth that, yes, stuck to her back. The scent of it reached her suddenly. It was strong, almost overwhelming. Yet, when Solas buried his face into her neck, his ear tickling her cheek, the long, curled strands of her hair crushed against his forehead, all she felt was peace.

She wrapped her arms around him, as well, and held the back of his head with her hand.

This moment was not like the others when they’d embraced. The greed, the desperation, the near-panic, all that was the same. But there was a quietness here, almost like a dirge. Solas’ path would lead them back to this moment. Solas may have staved it off tonight, but tomorrow? A month from now? Eventually, they would lose one another once more. And when they did? (If, she whispered to herself, and hoped. And hoped.) What would the world be once they were done?

She wondered if their love would matter at all, in those final moments, or if it meant little more than leaves in the fall.

“ _Ar glandival_. For both of us,” she whispered.

Solas moaned and pulled her into a kiss. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue searching every crevice as if to memorize, his hands coming to cup her face between them. She gripped his hand with her own and fell into the kiss, giving all that she was. A promise of loyalty. Of love. Of hope. It was everything she had, and she gave it to him unceasingly. She matched his tongue with hers, let him run those long fingers into the soft waves of hair trailing down her temples, let him gently tilt her head back. With only one hand, she had to trust Solas’ arms to hold her. She let go there, as well, and felt her stomach tremble slightly when Solas took her weight without a murmur. He wasn’t strong like a warrior, but he never shirked from carrying the world on his shoulders.

She loved him. She couldn’t help it. She fought back the tears, wanting this moment to be nothing but good. Wanting this moment to be a promise, something more than the deceit and death that had shadowed every moment before.

Solas finally broke away, his retreat just as desperate and hungry as those before, and she wouldn’t let it happen. Not this time. She curled her fingers lightly into his skin and leaned up. When he made to pull away, she let her balance fail her and fell forward. Solas tried to catch her, of course. She took the chance to lean higher and kiss his forehead. _“Banal nadas, vhenan.”_

Solas traced his thumb over her bare cheek. “You are like light,” he said, his voice quiet, in something like wonder. He stroked again, then backed away. “You’ve moved up our timetable,” he said. She nodded, accepting the warning. Less time to find another path, or to find a way to stop him. A way to convince him to give her more time.

She would search until that very last moment. She wouldn’t give up, on finding that alternate path or on their love. It wasn’t over.

Not yet.

She bent down and picked up her crossbow. The night wind caressed her cheek, just as Solas had. When she stood back up, she was alone.

* * *

“What happened?” Dorian’s voice snapped. The sun shone warm and bright on her cheek, lighting her hair like gold. It flashed as she ran her hand through it, sending droplets flying after her dip in the lake. “I couldn’t get in touch with you. I thought the crystal was broken. I thought–” His voice abruptly cut off, and she knew exactly what he’d thought.

“I’m sorry for worrying you. Solas must have blocked off the crystal somehow.”

A deep, abiding silence churned between them for a short moment before Dorian choked out, _“Solas?!_ Why in the world wouldn’t you start with that?”

She laughed. “It’s good to hear your voice, Dorian.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense now, Lavellan! Tell me everything!”

She did, and felt warm all the way down to her soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Vhenan – Heart
> 
> Emma lath suledin – My love endures. I chose 'emma’ instead of 'ma’ because translations showed 'emma’ to often be used in present tense and 'ma’ to be used as a catch-all. I wanted to emphasize that her love continues, even now.
> 
> Ar tu na'din – I will kill you!
> 
> Ma'arlath – My love.
> 
> Na din'an sahlin – Your death now. (Now you die.)
> 
> Tel'garas – Don’t come. (Leave.)
> 
> Ar glandival – I believe.
> 
> Banal nadas – Nothing is inevitable.


End file.
